The Long Fall
by WritePassion
Summary: What happened from the time Michael dropped Sam off at the emergency room to when Agent Riley injected Sam with the stimulant? This enquiring mind wanted to know, so I came up with this story. Big spoilers for episodes 6.17 and 6.18.
1. Chapter 1

_Burn Notice: I don't own it, I just like to play with it._

_This idea came to me this morning, thinking about what happened to Sam in "You Can Run" and "Game Change," between the time Michael brought Sam into the emergency room and the point where Riley tried to get information out of him by torturing him with the stimulant. So this is my take on what might have been._

**The Long Fall**

By WritePassion

It had been a little over twenty four hours since Sam was shot, and although the bullet was removed, he was still in severe pain and if he moved around too much the wound resumed bleeding. He was weak from the blood loss and pain and was pretty much useless to the team. So when Michael wanted to draw Riley out, Sam came up with the perfect solution. It allowed them to throw up a flag and get her to bite, and at the same time Sam would receive the medical care he needed.

No one thought about what might happen afterwards, but surely Michael would work that out later. If not, Sam figured he was doing Mike and the others a favor. He would no longer serve as a weight dragging them down, preventing them from escaping. He might lose his freedom, but if his friends gained theirs, the gamble would be worth it.

Michael helped Sam walk through the emergency room doors, half dragging him, while Sam pressed his hand to the wound that bled through another one of his good shirts. Elsa would be upset, because it was one of her favorites. The pressure of his hand didn't hold back the flow, but when his eyes scanned the people with less obvious issues waiting for care, the looks on their faces told him that it was best to shield them from the graphic appearance of his wound. A woman stared, her eyes full of shock. Other people craned their necks in curiosity to see the bleeding man approach the reception desk.

The nurse hadn't looked up yet. She just felt a presence before her and asked, "Can I help you?"

"Hey sweetheart, how're ya doin? I guess I need to see a doctor."

The woman asked, without looking up, "What's the nature of your injury?"

Michael answered her, "He got shot." Suddenly, her eyes were on Sam.

"Yeah, I was cleaning a gun and it went off. It was the damndest thing," Sam said, attempting to make it sound less serious than it actually was.

The woman jumped out of her seat, she said, "Wait right here, sir, I'll go get a doctor."

While they waited, Sam glanced around the emergency room. People stared at him. He would have preferred to not have the attention, especially since he was feeling a bit light-headed and might pass out if the nurse didn't hurry back with a gurney. Collapsing to the floor with all those eyes fixed on him would be embarrassing. Michael looked at him, concern and fear in his expression. He was afraid that his plan might not work and that Sam would be arrested and they might never see each other again. No, it would work. They had to believe that. Somehow Sam would have to sell his story, because if the cops got wind of how he was shot...

The sound of several pairs of rubber soled shoes came around the corner, owned by a doctor in a white lab coat and two orderlies in scrubs. Sam was never so glad to see a gurney in his life. A fine sheen of perspiration covered his skin, and he was starting to sense a case of the shakes coming on. He would have given Mike a farewell hug, but it would be awkward in this situation. Not to mention the fact that Sam didn't want to bleed all over his friend.

"Alright, this is it Sam. Are you ready for this," Michael asked.

"Yeah, I get the easy job. I get to lay in a bed. You get to deal with Riley."

"Take care, Sam." What he didn't say was, we'll get you back safe. I promise. They'd known each other so long, some things just didn't need to be spoken.

"Just lay down here, sir, and we'll get you into exam room one."

"Exam room one." Sam's grin was weak. "I like the sound of that."

Cool hands guided him to lay on the gurney, and he let out a labored breath. It felt good to be horizontal. As the orderlies pushed him toward the exam room, Sam raised his fist, his thumb up, signaling to Michael that everything would be okay. The ceiling seemed to whizz by faster than the conveyance actually moved, and it made him dizzy. To ease his discomfort, Sam focused on the doctor who looked down at him with concern in his eyes.

"I'm Doctor Pabst."

Sam let out a soft snort. "Like the beer, huh?"

Dr. Pabst looked as if he'd heard that one a million times. "Can you tell me your name, sir?"

"Yeah. It's Chuck. Chuck Finley." It was safe enough to use the alias, since the driver's license in his wallet bore that name. He wasn't sure where his passport had gone, but at the moment it didn't matter.

"Mr. Finley, can you tell me how this happened?"

Sam closed his eyes, unable to look the doctor in the eye and see the moving ceiling tiles beyond his face. He swallowed and answered, "I was cleaning a gun. I thought I unloaded all the rounds, but…" He let out a soft, nervous chuckle, careful not to add to his pain. "Apparently I missed one."

"Yes, apparently," the doctor responded with a tone of disapproval.

Probably one of those pacifist gun control nuts, Sam thought. If only he knew what some people dealt with on a daily basis….

The gurney turned and the corner bumped into the door frame. The shockwave jostled Sam, and he dropped his forearm over his eyes. He listened to the sounds of people moving around the exam room, and his nose picked up the signature odor of disinfectant.

"Alright, Mr. Finley, we're going to lift you onto the bed now," one of the orderlies said.

Sam nodded. Hands gripped him under the shoulders and at his calves, and the men transferred him with very little fuss to the cool crisp sheet covering the mattress. He opened his eyes now that he'd stopped moving and blinked against the glare from the overhead lighting. The doctor moved it so it was less intrusive.

"Better?" He smiled at Sam.

"Yeah. Thanks."

To his right, a nurse placed a blood pressure cuff on his arm and squeezed the bulb. He always hated the way those things cut off his circulation, but it was only temporary. The pain from his gunshot wound, however, had been a lot more enduring and torturous. The medication Campbell gave him had worn off a long time ago. When the paramedic left to work his shift, Sam had no more access to the pain pills. He was in a hospital now, where a whole other crop of pain-numbing chemicals waited just for him. In the meantime, however, he had to suck it up and wait.

"BP is ninety over sixty, pulse is eighty two," the nurse reported as she stripped off the cuff. She slipped a plastic clip onto his finger, attached the lead to a board, and turned it on. Numbers appeared, giving the medical personnel a constant monitor of his vitals.

Sam lay on the bed, silent, waiting for more questions. He knew enough to be aware that the blood loss was creating problems again. Despite the transfusion Mike gave him he was still lacking, as evidenced by his blood pressure and pulse. His body shuddered and he sensed unconsciousness creeping to the edge of his awareness. He should just let himself go, but he was too wary and curious to see what they would do, especially when the doctor examined him and found no bullet in his gut.

This was something that wouldn't be easy to explain. As it was, the incision that Dr. Jed made to remove the bullet was pretty obvious. He and Mike discussed it in the van on the way there, but they didn't come up with a good enough explanation. Sam would have to wing it, or fall back on taking advantage of the shock to obscure his recollection of the event.

Someone stuck him with a needle, and a few moments later a hand reached up to hang an IV bag over his head. The doctor used the time to wash up and returned to the bed. He looked down at Sam and spoke to him.

"Mr. Finley, how are you doing? How is your pain on a scale of one to ten?" While he asked questions, the doctor examined him.

"Uh, a eight, nine, maybe ten." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know."

"Do you know if you're allergic to any medications?"

"None that I know of." Sam licked his lips. He was starting to get thirsty, and the pain worsened. He tried to glance at his abdomen, but he was in a bad position to see much of anything.

Dr. Pabst laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Try to stay flat, Mr. Finley. Nurse, start a morphine drip in conjunction with the saline. Do a type and cross match."

"I can save you the time," Sam blurted. "I'm A positive."

"You're certain of that?"

"Yes." Sam looked up at him. "I've had transfusions before."

"Okay. We'll still do the type match and get you on a pint," Dr. Pabst said with an indulgent smile.

"If it's all the same to you, Doc, I'd rather have a beer. Or a mojito," he muttered and closed his eyes. The doctor laughed.

In a normal situation, Sam might have been offended that the doctor didn't believe him, but he understood that under physical duress people often gave the wrong information. The man would rather be safe than sorry, and Sam had to give him credit for that.

"So, let's take a look at what you did to yourself, Mr. Finley." Dr. Pabst unbuttoned his shirt and pushed up his undershirt to examine the wound. With gloved hands he probed around it, causing Sam to stifle a groan. "I'm sorry that hurts, doesn't it. Are you sure you did this to yourself?"

"Positive." Sam closed his eyes again, waiting impatiently for the morphine to hit his bloodstream.

"The trajectory isn't consistent with a self-shooting, Mr. Finley." Dr. Pabst shook his head. "I'll have to talk to your friend and get his perspective on this."

By this time, Michael should have been leading Riley on a wild chase, so Sam would have to stick to his story and hope for the best.

"It looks like the bullet went in your side, but when I palpate the area, I can't feel a mass. It also appears that someone did some cutting here." He raised an eyebrow and looked directly at Sam. "Care to tell me who did the amateurish operation on you?"

Sam managed a false look of surprise. "You mean it's not in there?"

"Not that I can tell. We'll do an x-ray and see where it is. Judging by how much bleeding is here, I suspect the spleen might have been nicked. Whether by the bullet or your back alley doctor, who knows." He rattled off a series of tests and instructions that the nurse tapped into a computer. Then he said, "We'll cover this up and try to stop some of the bleeding, and after the test results come back, we'll see what we do next." Dr. Pabst pulled off his gloves. "I'll be back in a little while, Mr. Finley." He spun on his heel and left the room, tossing the soiled gloves in a biohazard bin on the way out.

The nurse applied a pressure bandage to his wound, and an orderly came in to assist in undressing him. In any normal circumstance, he wouldn't have minded a pretty woman stripping off his clothes. But she wasn't Elsa, and this wasn't a normal situation. Even worse, he suffered the indignity of a man pulling off his pants and underwear. If he'd had enough blood, it would have rushed to his cheeks in embarrassment.

Once he was clothed in a flimsy hospital gown that was slightly scratchy and smelled of bleach, the bed moved through the doors and down the hall to radiology. Sam lay still, moving only when told to, and let them do what they willed. The morphine was starting to kick in, and he felt like he was floating on a cloud.

He imagined Mike in the waiting room, wondering if he even had time to finish filling out Sam's paperwork before Riley showed up. No doubt the receptionist was on the phone right away calling the police, which was standard protocol with gunshots, even if someone claimed it was an accidental self-shooting. Riley was sure to come with tons of cruisers and cops, and Mike could put his plan into motion. In the meantime, Sam's role was to lie in bed and get well. After that, who knew what would happen. If Riley caught Michael, Fiona, Jesse, and Maddie, things would not end well. If Riley got caught, the outcome was less obvious. Sam's mind grew too fuzzy to consider it, and he slipped into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sam awoke and had no idea how long he'd been out. He was in the exam room again, but he was alone. The monitor beeped and he glanced up at the three bags hanging from the IV pole. One of them held a deep red liquid. Blood. He'd been out long enough for them to determine his blood type. The clock on the wall wasn't a lot of help, because he'd been too distracted when he arrived to look to see what time it was. The door swung open and the nurse came in, a warm smile on her face when she noted that he was conscious.

"Mr. Finley, I didn't get to introduce myself earlier. My name is Rachel. How are you feeling right now?" She came around to his right side via the foot of his bed and checked on the monitor.

"Better." He swallowed and asked, "Did the doctor get the bullet out?" Inside he winced, because he hated lying to such a pretty nurse, but he had to stick with his story or risk more trouble.

"The x-rays just came back." She held them up and turned toward a long light box on the wall. She hung three films up and turned on the light. "We took three views, front, back and side." She studied them a moment and said, "I don't see anything on these, Mr. Finley. Dr. Pabst might want to do an MRI to check on the tissue damage."

"Whatever. I'm at your mercy." He raised his arm, confined by tubes and the monitor sensor, a few inches off the surface. "I'm kind of tied up at the moment, you know."

Rachel laughed and smiled, a dimple appearing on her right cheek. "You're better off, trust me. Your vitals are looking a lot stronger since we started the transfusion and the saline, and the morphine will help you relax and put less stress on your system." She patted his free arm before heading for the door. "I'll let the doctor know your films are here."

It seemed as if hours passed before Dr. Pabst returned, and when he did, Sam heard a familiar deep voice in the background. Riley. And she was fired up. A small smile crossed Sam's face as he realized that Mike must have gotten away, and she was angry and frustrated that he escaped again.

"I want to see him right now," she demanded.

Dr. Pabst's voice was calm as he replied. "I can't let you in there. Mr. Finley is stable right now, and I don't want…."

"I don't care what you want," Riley bellowed loud enough for Sam to hear her through the door. "And his name isn't Finley. It's Sam Axe."

The voices blurred into a jumble of muted tones that Sam strained to hear, but he was unsuccessful. He let out a sigh. The cat was out of the bag now, and no doubt Riley was telling Dr. Pabst who he really was. How much else she knew, he had no idea. If her team recovered the man Mike took hostage, no doubt she had most of the details on what went down at Schmidt's house. After awhile, the door opened.

Dr. Pabst stood half in the room, holding Riley back with a hand. "I'm sorry, Agent Riley. You can station someone outside Mr. F… Mr. Axe's door, but you can't come in. He's my patient and I'm only concerned about what's best for him. At the moment, that includes peace and quiet, no questions, and certainly no browbeating. Got it?"

"Yes. I'll have a man standing here."

Sam heard footsteps retreat and he let out a relieved breath. The doctor's steps neared and Sam looked up at him. If it hadn't been imperative to maintain an alias, he would have felt bad about the betrayed look on the man's face.

The doctor rested the heels of his hands on the rail. "Mr. Axe, I don't know what's going on, and I don't care. My job is to help you heal and get well. I just wish you'd been up front with me from the beginning."

"I'm sorry, Doc. My friends and I have a hard time knowing who we can trust these days," Sam explained.

"Fair enough. I don't really want to know any more than that." He turned away and studied the films on the light box.

Rachel entered the room and snipped the bracelet off of Sam's left wrist, replacing it with a new one that showed his real name. She didn't say a word, but her eyes told him she didn't like being lied to. Sam turned his head to the side away from her and closed his eyes.

Pabst returned to his bedside and pointed to the incision. "The x-rays confirm that there's nothing in there. You mind telling me who did this?"

"I don't know his name. It was Jed something. He's an associate of one of my friends, and I guess he used to be a surgeon. That's all I know, honest!" He paused, taking a breath to calm himself. "I was so out of it by the time we showed up at the guy's house. I know I passed out on the way, and Mi… my friend was smacking me, trying to keep me awake."

"Well, for the primitive conditions, he didn't do a half bad job. Still, I'm worried about infection, and the bleeding. I'm consulting with a surgeon. Most likely he'll go in and determine the source of the bleeding and stop it." Pabst straightened. "From what I can see on the x-rays, there's a darker shadow near your spleen, so I'm betting that's where the problem is."

After the surgeon came into the room and spoke with Sam, he announced that he was sending him up to the operating room as soon as he was sedated. Rachel arrived as he was leaving and injected something into the port on his IV.

"That'll put you out before we get you to the operating room, Mr. Axe." She almost sounded happy about that, digging the knife of guilt in deeper even as she cared for him.

An orderly showed up and put Sam's bed into motion. Between the drugs and the moving ceiling, Sam felt even more nauseous. It was a good thing he hadn't had anything to eat for awhile. The bed stopped moving and he opened his eyes to find himself in an elevator. The car moved upwards a few floors, and then they were on the move again. At that point, Sam didn't care. His eyes were closed and his mind drifted to better times and places where they didn't have to run anymore. He heard voices but they seemed far away. A mask fitted over his face, and darkness closed in soon after.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

An itch on his cheek was one of the first things that caught Sam's attention as he woke from the anesthesia. He tried to raise his hand to scratch it, but it seemed to be tied down. He couldn't move. He pulled with as much strength as he could muster, which wasn't much, but his arm moved a couple inches and stopped. He moaned and opened his eyes a little. His head felt too heavy to lift, or he would have looked to see what held his arm down. He tried the other one, and it seemed to be immobilized as well.

"Mr. Axe, try not to move. You're just coming out of your anesthesia. Relax. You'll be put into your own room soon, just be patient."

It wasn't Rachel's voice. "Itch," he tried to speak, but the inside of his mouth was so dry, it felt like he'd been stuffed with cotton balls.

"You have an itch?" She was good at deciphering his speech. "Where is it?"

"Left… cheek." He twitched it in confirmation.

"Okay, I'll take care of it."

She scrubbed at his cheek with a gentle hand, and he nodded slightly when he felt relief. "Thanks."

"No problem." She moved on to another patient and left him alone. It didn't matter, because he was already out.

The next time he awoke, Sam found himself in a private room. The blinds were closed, and the room was bathed in a soft blue light. He moved his hand and heard the click of metal against the hard plastic rail. Handcuffed. His right hand was also secured. He should have known they would confine him. At least the head of his bed had been raised and he could see everything around him. The room was very tiny, only large enough for his bed, the IV stand, and some other equipment pushed into a corner. A counter and cabinets stood along the wall opposite the bed. With a single chair in the corner, there was very little room for moving around. Not that he would have any visitors anyway. Riley had him, he was under arrest, and the only people who would see him besides medical personnel were sure to be agents or cops.

Sam sighed and wondered where Mike was. Did he meet with Bly? The CSS agent was their only hope to clear their names and take down Riley. He couldn't imagine what would happen if she won the war and conquered the team. Sam anticipated that he'd have to get used to handcuffs and orange jumpsuits. While he liked a variety of colors and was known to have worn a shade of orange or peach now and then, the bright, glaring tint that screamed convict was not one of his favorites.

The door groaned softly, and Sam saw a streak of light hit the wall with a slash of a silhouette on the blank surface. The door closed before he could see his visitor come around the corner. When he saw her stark, angry expression, he exhaled sharply.

"Mr. Axe, hello," Riley said in a vain attempt to be friendly. The smile didn't reach her eyes which were like two cold blocks of coal. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," he responded. Thank God for the morphine, because just looking at the evil in that woman's stance and expression was enough to cause him pain. But he wouldn't let her know that.

Riley stopped at his left side and her eyes landed on the IV bag. "Morphine drip. You must be in a lot of pain."

Licking his lips and pursing them, he steeled himself and replied, "Some. But I can take it."

"Don't worry, this won't take long. I just have one question for you."

Sam smirked. "I guess we're both out of luck, 'cause I've got zero answers for you and one question."

"Really. Well, I think you're going to tell me how to find Michael Westen." Riley smirked back and approached the bag hanging on a pole near his bedside. Sam kept his eye on her, not sure what she planned on doing, but even if he knew, he was powerless to stop her. Both of his hands were cuffed to the bed. She pulled out a syringe and stuck it into the port. "I'm replacing your pain killer with a mild stimulant. It'll keep you awake, so you can think about my question." She pushed the plunger and the fluid went into the line.

It hit Sam's nerves like a freight train, but he refused to let her see its effect.

"Unfortunately, it will also increase your sensitivity to pain. A lot." She placed the syringe in her pocket and crossed her arms.

"It doesn't matter. I've got nothing to say." He turned his head away from her.

"We'll see how you feel after a few hours without pain medication. Anyway, we've got plenty of information from the things we got off of you to help us start a search." She smiled, but there was no amusement in the expression.

Sam's nerve endings felt as if fire ants were crawling up them, stinging with each step. He twitched and pasted on a grimace of pain mixed with malice. "Hey, before you go, there's something I want to tell you."

"Oh, what's that?" From the look in her eyes, he could see that she hoped he was ready to cave, but he was nowhere near that point.

"You know, I was slowing Mike down." The monitor began beeping faster, and he tried to keep his breathing under control in an effort to dull the edge growing sharper by the moment. "But I'm not slowing him down anymore. You took the gloves off, sister." He took in a breath. "You called a hit on his mom, for crying out loud." His breathing changed, becoming more shallow and quick. "You don't have to worry about finding Michael Westen, because he'll find you. And when he does, he is going to end this." The daggers he threw at her with his eyes didn't faze her.

She nodded and scowled. "We'll see about that, Mr. Axe." She turned and walked at a brisk pace out the door, leaving Sam behind.

The pain became excruciating, reminding him of a couple times he'd been held captive and interrogated during his career. No, it was worse. With each passing second, it became a living hell, and he fought against the restraints. He cried out, yet no one came. He tried again to move, to get away from the white hot agony, but it was useless. Unable to take anymore, and unable to retreat into unconsciousness, Sam screamed. Still no one came. It was then that he began to panic. His hands were just out of reach of the call button, and he couldn't move his elbow to hit it. The only thing he could do was scream until a torrent of tears streamed down his face and he had no breath left.

Eyes wide with horror, he realized that no air reached his lungs. Like a fish out of water, he gaped and nothing happened. This was it, he was going to die and no one would know until Riley came back to attempt to interrogate him again. Spots swam before his eyes, he fought for air like the time in SEAL training when the trainers pushed them underwater, trying to teach them to hold their breaths for longer and longer periods. But Sam never got a breath to begin with this time, and he was going down. A curtain of blackness overtook him, his body relaxed and went limp, and he felt no more pain.

Thirty seconds later, the line monitoring his pulse flattened, and the machine let out a shrill, monotone chime.

Outside the room, Riley stood with a police officer, waiting for Axe to shut up and get to a point where she could go back in. He was so close. He quieted, and she smiled. In a few seconds, she would go in and try again. This time, she would get her answers.

An annoying alarm went off above her head and she looked to see a blue light over the door flashed and made the horrible noise, and personnel came running from every direction.

"Get the crash cart, stat!"

A nurse pushed Riley out of the way, setting her off balance into the officer. She scowled at the woman and made a move to enter the room, but a doctor pushed her back.

"You need to stay out here. There's not enough room for you and the equipment." He trotted inside with another nurse who pushed a cart loaded with equipment and medical supplies.

Riley stood at the open door and watched the scene unfold. The doctor turned to her and barked, "You, get in here now and unlock those cuffs!"

Stunned that he dared to yell at her like that, she froze. The officer slipped past her and unlocked them, removing the shackles from the bed and Sam's wrists. The mattress was already laid flat and a nurse performed chest compressions. The other provided oxygen with a mask.

"It's not working, prepare to shock." The doctor turned to the electrocardiogram, picking up the leads and sticking them to Sam's chest.

The nurse went back to CPR until the machine beeped, announcing it was ready. "Okay, clear." The doctor laid the paddles on Sam, hit the buttons, sending the electricity through his body. "Okay, back to compressions." The line was still flat. He recharged the machine. "Clear."

The second the bolt ran through his body, Sam gasped and his heart started beating again. Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief. The nurse beside the doctor moved the machine out of the way and against the wall where it could continue to monitor Sam's heart. The doctor examined him while the other nurse set up a line of oxygen on him and raised the head of the bed.

Wrapping his stethoscope around his neck, the doctor approached Riley with a satisfied smile. "That was close, we almost lost him. I couldn't tell you what happened. He's been responding well ever since we managed to save his spleen and properly care for his wound. For a guy his age he's in really good health otherwise, so he shouldn't have coded."

"Doctor, something's wrong," the nurse standing near the IV pole announced as she held up the line, her thumb on the valve. "Someone shut off his pain medication."

"What? Who would do that," the doctor asked. "Who was in here besides you two this afternoon?"

The nurse holding the line looked straight at Riley, pointed at her and said, "She's the only visitor that Mr. Axe has had."

Riley pursed her lips as the doctor turned to her. "What did you do? Why did you turn off his pain meds?"

"I don't have to stand here and listen to you accuse me," she exclaimed.

"You could have killed him."

"Doctor, should I turn this..."

"No!" He held up a hand, then turned back to Riley. "Ma'am, I need to know if you gave him something. I heard him screaming in here just before he coded, and the only thing that would cause him to do that is, one, if his pain meds were held back, and two, someone gave him something to feel more pain." With hands on hips, he got into her face. "So was it one? Both? Before I can give him any more medication, I need to know what you gave him so I can counteract it, or risk killing him."

Riley didn't care if Sam Axe died. It would only make her job easier. One down, four more to go. Caught between the doctor and the cop, she found her space for escape narrowing. In a flash, her hands pushed out, knocking the doctor off his balance and sending him into a wall. Like a linebacker, she whirled and put her shoulder into the officer, pushing him away so she could run.

"Stop that woman!" The doctor called, but she caught the stairs and ran down them.

She evaded her tail and met up with her agents. Out of breath, she huffed, "We need to get moving." She got into the car and dialed her phone. Plans had changed, and she needed to make sure a new plan was in place to take Michael Westen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

As Riley pushed the officer out of the way, he attempted to grab onto her suit jacket. He snagged her pocket, but as she slipped away something fell from it and dropped to the floor. The doctor leaned and snatched it up.

"She shot him up with something." He turned to one of the nurses who stood near his elbow. "Take this to the lab. I wanna know what she gave him before we administer any pain killers."

"Yes, Doctor!" She ran for the elevator to take it to the lab.

While a rush was put on the analysis, Sam lay in agony. He could breathe again, the oxygen helping greatly. His mind, however, and the tricks contained therein, were his only source of pain suppression. It wasn't good enough. At least he didn't totally lose control and go into cardiac arrest. Any minute, he expected Riley to return and try to get answers from him. Only she screwed up big time, because now Sam was so focused on the pain and trying to overcome it, there was no way he could even hope to tell her anything.

Sam overheard Dr. Pabst talking to the cop, and he almost cried when the doctor lectured him, saying, "You're not putting those back on him, Sergeant."

"But Doc, he's under arrest."

"Does that man look well enough to get up and walk out of here without your knowing? I don't think so. Thanks to that woman, Agent Riley, he is in extreme pain right now and he's fragile. I can't even begin to try to stabilize him, so until I know what was in that syringe, I can't put him back on the morphine." He paused to take a breath. "And when I can put him on it again, he'll be so out of it, he won't be able to do anything but sleep. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," the cop answered. "But we were told that this Westen guy might try to come back and rescue him."

"Westen. Is that the same guy who brought him in?"

"Yes sir."

Dr. Pabst sighed. "If you'd seen the look of concern in that man's eyes, you'd know that the last thing he'd want to do is jeopardize Mr. Axe's life. Unlike that woman."

"I'm still keeping to my orders and standing guard."

"You do that. Just leave him alone and let him try to rest. I'm begging you."

"Yes, sir."

Hearing the conversation helped Sam relax. The game had now changed. Yes, Sam was still under arrest, but with Dr. Pabst on his side, he was no longer being held as if he was public enemy number one. His body still felt the prick and pang of his nerves sparking on overdrive, but he tried to keep his mind clear and relax. It was the only way to avoid a replay of before.

After an hour, Sam was exhausted but he still found no relief. Tears leaked out the sides of his closed lids. Sucking in greedily from the oxygen tube anchored under his nose, his hands clenched and flexed, clenched and flexed in a rhythm that he used in a weak attempt to concentrate on something besides the pain. He heard footsteps that entered the room. Was it Riley? He hurt too much to open his eyes and look.

"Mr. Axe," the nurse's voice was soft and soothing. "Can you hear me, Mr. Axe?"

"Yeah," he stuttered, his entire body trembling as the pain began to win.

"I'm going to give you something that will counteract the medication in your bloodstream."

He managed to open his eyes and stare at her. With the amount of moisture in his eyes, she swam before him. He was so relieved, but he couldn't speak.

She smiled and stuck a syringe into the IV port. "This will work fast, so you won't hurt for too much longer. I promise." She threw the syringe into the sharps box and came around to stand beside him on the opposite side of the bed. As the medicine did its work, she rubbed his right arm, a gentle touch to help soothe him.

From the center of his chest, he sensed the first wave of numbness. Then it evened out and a wave of relief washed over him. The prickliness went away as the medication surged through his veins to every extremity. His head seemed heavy, and he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Don't fight it, Mr. Axe. Just sleep. You need this. After about an hour, we'll hook you back up to the morphine drip."

Sam exhaled a soft breath, whispering, "Thank you." He fell asleep not long after and had his first good rest in days, if not weeks.

He stayed in the hospital for over a week, getting stronger by the day. After a couple of days, they took away the morphine drip and managed his pain with other medications. He knew the reason why. The CIA wanted to take him into custody, but they couldn't move him until he could manage himself. He almost wished for an infection that would cause him to stay longer, but he healed quick. Despite the slap-dash work of Dr. Jed, and Agent Riley's attempt to torture and/or kill him, he had the smoothest convalescence ever in his life.

After nine days, Dr. Pabst signed his discharge papers. "I don't like it, but Sam, I'm sorry, there isn't really anything we can do for you." He looked up from the clipboard. "I don't know what you did, but I have a hard time believing it was anything so heinous that the CIA would want you."

"It's a long, long story, Doc. You're better off not hearing it."

Dr. Pabst nodded and handed him an amber bottle and a prescription. "Here's enough meds to get you started, and if you need any more, have someone get this filled for you."

"Thanks." Sam sat on the edge of the bed in fresh clothes, staring down at the bottle and the paper in his hands. Then he looked up at the doctor. "Thanks for taking such good care of me. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome, Mr. Axe." He held out his hand to shake Sam's. "Good luck, and I hope that things go well for you."

"Me too, Doc. Me too."

Two agents in black suits appeared in the door and Sam smirked. "Looks like my escorts are here." He slipped off the bed and tested his footing before he stepped forward, holding his hands out to be cuffed. He'd hoped that maybe this wouldn't happen, but he knew the way the agency worked. He would be marched out with handcuffs on, not only as a measure to prevent his escape, but to announce to anyone who watched that they'd caught the big bad cohort of Michael Westen.

"What's this," the tall, blonde, muscular agent to Sam's left asked as he grabbed the medicine and the prescription.

"My scrip for pain meds. You got a problem with that?" Sam challenged him with a glare.

The agent slipped both into his pocket. "You'll get those later, and a doctor will supervise the administration of all narcotics."

"Fine. Whatever." Sam sighed and allowed them to pull him out of the room. He walked down the hall with the men flanking him, meeting the eyes of nurses who worked hard to keep him alive and regain his health. Their eyes reflected their confusion, but he didn't have time to explain. Patients and visitors stared at the man in cuffs, wondering who he was and if he was dangerous. The past six years rushed through Sam's head. Yeah, he was dangerous if you were the wrong person, the kind who was evil and hated freedom and loved to oppress people. He'd always been that way, and always would be. They could lock him away for life. It wouldn't matter. He could walk tall knowing he may have broken the rules time and again, but he did the right thing for good reasons. Unlike the people who forced Michael's hand and those of his friends. No matter the outcome, Sam knew if he could do it all over again, he wouldn't change a thing.


End file.
